The American artist took her in his long arms with a vigorous hug, and favored her with a sounding kiss.

“I’ll tell you, Sybilla.  Hanged if I don’t believe you can twist me round your little finger if you choose!  You’re as pretty as a picture—­you are, I swear and I love you like all creation; and I’ll marry you just as soon as this little business is settled, and I’ll take you to Maine, and keep you in the tallest sort of clover.  I never calk’lated on having a British gal for a wife; but you’re handsome enough and spunky enough for a president’s lady, and I don’t care a darn what the folks round our section say about it.  I’ll tell you, Sybilla; but you mustn’t split to a living soul, or my cake’s dough.  They say a woman can’t keep a secret; but you must try, if you should burst for it.  I reckon my lady will come down handsomely before I’ve done with her, and you and me, Sybilla, can go to housekeeping across the three thousand miles of everlasting wet in tip-top style.  Come to-night; you’ve got to come to me now.”

“I suppose I will find you at the inn?”

“I suppose so.  ’Tain’t likely,” said Mr. Parmalee, with a sulky sense of injury, “you’ll find me prancing up and down the village with this here face.  I’ll get the old woman to do it up in brown paper and vinegar when I go home, and I’ll stay abed and smoke until dark.  You won’t come afore dark, wilt you?”

“No; I don’t want to be recognized; and you must be prepared to come out with me when I do.  I’ll disguise myself.  Ah! suppose I disguise myself in men’s clothes?  You won’t mind, will you?”

“By gosh! no, if you don’t.  Men’s clothes!  What a rum one you are, Miss Silver?  Doosed good-looking little feller you’ll make.  But why are you so skeery about it?”

“Why?  Need you ask?  Would Sir Everard permit me to remain in his house one hour if he suspected I was his enemy’s friend?  Have you any message to deliver to my lady before we part?”

“No.  She’ll send a message to me during the day, or I’m mistaken.  If she don’t, why, I’ll send one back with you to-night.  By-bye, Mrs. Parmalee that is to be.  Take care of yourself until to-night.”

The gentleman walked down the stair-way alone toward a side entrance.  The lady stood on the landing above, looking after him with a bitter, sneering smile.

“Mrs. Parmalee, indeed!  You blind, conceited fool!  Twist you round my little finger, can I?  Yes, you great, hulking simpleton, and ten times better men!  Let me worm your secret out of you—­let me squeeze my sponge dry, and then see how I’ll fling you into your native gutter!”

Mr. Parmalee, on his way out, stopped at the pretty rustic lodge and bathed his swollen and discolored visage.  The lodge-keeper’s wife was all sympathy and questions.  How on earth did it happen?

“Run up against the ’lectric telegraph, ma’am,” replied Mr. Parmalee, sulkily; “and there was a message coming full speed, and it knocked me over.  Morning.  Much obliged.”